The Case of Shiloh Harper
by The Savvy Sleuth
Summary: Growing up wealthy was always a perk. Growing up with all eyes on you was even better in the case of one Sherlock Holmes. So when the new neighbor girl wants nothing to do with them short of snubbing John, what is one to do about it? God forbid he has a case! Rated T (Sherlock/John/Oc) Post return from The Fall.
1. Pencil

The case of Shiloh Harper.

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Chapter one: Pencil.

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The pencil bobbed rhythmically in between my fingers, my eyes dull and glossed over with a focus forced as I stared down at the papers on my table. My mother moved behind me in the kitchen, her hands flying through the cupboards in search of a rogue spice that insisted on keeping out of reach. Vegetable stew simmered deliciously on the stove, permeating the kitchen and adjoining bedrooms, the smell coiled in my nose and I closed my eyes. "Shiloh sweetie do you know where I put the garlic salt?"

The pencil tottered to the table with a startling thunk and I was drawn away from my day-dreaming and back into reality. Suddenly _aware_ of the food cooking and irritated with my mothers clanking around the cupboards, somewhere in the living room a television blared the newest football game. "Delilah Pesky! Would you _please_, keep the noise down!" A males bass called into the kitchen, my mother stopped her searching long enough to poke her head into the next room and answer him hotly. I retrieved the offending pencil and stuck the eraser in my mouth, sloppily gathering the papers and leaving the kitchen; leaving behind my mothers racket for the privacy of my bedroom.

"Shiloh, Shiloh!" I hurried for the stairs and took them by two's as my mothers voice tried to follow me. Only behind the safety of my locked door did I finally breath a sigh of relief and drop everything in my arms, casually kicking the papers to the side, even ripping one. Although narrowing my eyes just barely I wandered over toward the side-window, fiddling with the lock until I could push them open. Bare-backed Kansas stared right back at me, blue hills rolling in the distance while accompanied by the slow ascent of nightfall, the first stars of the night already blinking down at me. A smirk tugged at my upper lip as I wrinkled my nose and fell back from the window, pulling it shut behind me. I had been living in Kansas all of my life, just a peek was all that was necessary to remind me of that fact.

My bed was a welcome change from all the sitting and walking throughout the day, pillows graciously accepting the crown of my head into their comfort. My blankets rode up around me until I yanked one messily across my legs _which_ still bore my pants for that day. Oh well. I was too lazy to take them off and my brain was too tired to care, and so I closed my eyes fully dressed that night. Sounds of my parents arguing filtered through the vents and I shifted uncomfortably, even after the heater kicked on and drowned out the anger in their voices. The fighting... It was becoming more and more common and I feared, blinking, that it would get worse. School-mates tales of their torn families, divorced and doomed parents lingering in my thoughts. Would that be the fate of my meager little family? I clenched my fingers against my shirt and buried my head even further into my pillow, forcing my mind into something lighter unless I wanted to start crying.

I hated crying. It was so weak.

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**Note**: So on top of star trek I'm going to try my hand at a Sherlock story, why? Because I fell in love with him and just... Cumberbatch please. Admittedly deductive reasoning is not at _all_ my strong suit and I do not enjoy it in the least bit. But I do enjoy watching Sherlock do it and I do understand it so despite my displeasure with the subject I am going to see how I fare. I'm just going to get it out now rather than later; this story primarily follows the life of Shiloh Harper and her experiences. Yes it does involve Sherlock, John and the whole caboose but they are not the focus of attention.

These chapters will be _much _shorter than my star trek chapters for that reason alone. I intend to write on both stories and therefore need to find a way to keep from burning myself out too fast. Although both will be updated frequently they will be at different times and different intervals. Rarely will you find an excessively long Sherlock chapter. Please enjoy! And thank you so much for reading! c:


	2. Sherlock

The Case of Shiloh Harper.

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Chapter two: Sherlock.

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**Two months later.**

221A was quaint at best, my bedroom back home made the small apartment look like a closet.

But that wasn't mine anymore, this was. This unassuming, thin-walled, one-bedroom apartment. This was my new home and I might as well get used to it, the neighbors could not be that bad. According to the land lady, ahh, miss Hudson I _think_ was her name; I only had two neighbors and they kept to themselves. Good. I made a curt nod to the emptiness and fiddled unconsciously with the fibers on the recline chair. I was entertaining the idea of cutting my hair, it did reach beyond my waist and there was not a reason go keep it that way anymore. So would a short do work or maybe something mid-back? Maybe one of those _pixie_ cut things that were all the rage, though did I really want to have it that short? I mean it was not necessarily the warmest in London.

Pixie cuts, what _was _that about anyway? Back in Onaga if someone had walked in with one they would have been the talk of lunch and soon the laughing stock. People were so unkind yet I could not deny that I too would have been with those laughing, always the lemming. Well if you're not trying to fit in than what else was there to do? Onaga was tiny with a pizza place and a library for its entertainment. The pizza was not even that good. What, what was I talking about? That did not explain the point of such a silly hairstyle.

Hair, the fashion statement of the ages. A chuckle broke across my lips as I reclined into the stiff cushions of a very uncomfortable chair. The covering looked stained and more than gross but I was tired and did not feel like taking it off to the laundry, also because I was not sure where the laundry place _was._ Did this place have a laundry room? The thought made me bite my cheek and rise unwillingly, slipping on a pair of grungy slippers and closing the door tightly behind me. The walk was short, just a hop and skip down some stairs and I found myself facing the front room where I stopped. Someone was moving around in the kitchen but I could not see them, no way of knowing if it was the land lady. "Ah, Miss?" I called tentatively, leaning forward just a few inches to listen. Nothing, "Miss Hudson?" I called again. The older woman appeared in a flurry of floral skirts and dirtied apron, a messy spoon in hand as she waved it around, spouting something about spaghetti and sherlock. I ducked in a hurry as she swung the spoon at me "I am so sorry young lady but I am very busy, did you need something?" I think she meant to be demanding but her wrinkled face was soft with a motherly concern.

"Ah, I- uh, is there a laundry room in the building?" She stared at me blankly for a moment, she did hear me did she not? Suddenly she was animated and she swung wide with the spoon once again as she turned around to point with her other hand "Of course dearie! The boys use my laundry in the back there, last room you come to. You're perfectly free to use it too!", The boys? My neighbors were men? How nice. As long as they did not hold any stupid parties at stupid times in the morning then I was fine. "Really? That's great thanks!" I gave her a small salute and turned quickly on my heel to hurry back to my room. "Goodness an American!" Is what I heard upon closing my door and a mumbling that I imagined was the woman talking to herself. "Strange lady.." A brush of fingers through my hair and a sigh of despair.

A thought came to me while I leaned against my door. "What's a Sherlock?" I had never heard of an herb called Sherlock before, though I was not in the United States either... I suppose the Brits might call Oregano "Sherlock" instead of Oregano. Sort of like how I called soda "soda" and my parents insisted on calling it cola. How annoying.

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**Note**: Lol, the Sherlock herb.


	3. Upon arrival

The Case of Shiloh Harper

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Chapter three: Upon arrival.

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After being to the corner store for a few groceries I was making my way back to my apartment, though with the sunshine on my face I was taking my time. Since I had moved to London it had been nothing but rain, drizzle, mist, and a mournful mugginess that made me feel absolutely horrible. A delighted sigh bubbled at my lips as I exchanged bagged hands to brush some hair out of my face. Just a few more steps and I would be the door to 221b, Speedy's signature red awning glared at me as the sunlight bounced off of it. I stopped though when miss Hudson appeared in the doorway, saying something I could not hear as a two men followed her out. One was incredibly tall while the other one was considerably shorter, but not too bad. They were all speaking among themselves though the shorter man seemed to be more intent on yelling, maybe the taller one broke something of his? Or maybe... Maybe it was a lovers quarrel and miss Hudson was trying to keep it on the low down! Oh my, the prospect of- my neighbors because had miss Hudson not mentioned them being men?- being gay was positively awkward!

I eyed them suspiciously as I moved toward the door behind them, hoping to go unnoticed. Alas as I was stepping up into the building somebody shouted for silence, turning to look at the small trio I found a finger being pointed in my direction and the bluest eyes I had ever seen burning holes at me. "Shut. Up!" Snapped the man again, making it blatantly clear that he was talking to me; calling me out in public. What was he doing? I had not even said anything! "What-", "Stop it, stop thinking it's irritating." He continued leaving me open mouthed and wide-eyed.

How dare he.

My mind was doing back-flips, fists tightening angrily around the flimsy straps of my plastic bags. If I could have I would have made the milk boil but I could not and sufficed to glare at him. He was no longer looking at me but I could almost bet that he was waiting for me to say something, his body was relaxed and angled in an overly challenging stance. The black coat attached to his torso fluttered stiffly in a cool breeze that kicked in. What was nature trying to prove? That he could be made to look mysterious? Nature could kick the bucket, how dare this impudent man shriek at me as though he had any form of authority. I could see no badge on him and no bulge on him to say that he had one hiding, my eyes roamed over him quickly.

I propped my bags at the threshold to the door, shook my hands and rolled my shoulders. Stepping down I walked to the trio, the shorter man noticed my approach and turned as though he was going to say something but I ignored him. Instead I stomped up to the rude man and pushed his arm. Considering I was quite a bit shorter than him it required a little more elbow grease, but I succeeded in turning him- mostly because he responded to my touch- and proceeded to bring the flat of my palm across his left cheek. "You sir are rude beyond repair, good day to you!" My lip curled with the hostility of my tone. "Oh my- goodness!" I heard miss Hudson stutter nervously, I imagined her clutching her hands to her mouth in surprise. I did not bother to stay though, storming back to my bags I continued the short trip to my apartment.

_What had I done that for?_ I thought loudly as I locked the door behind me. I heard voices outside my door and somebody snapped in annoyance. Ignoring them I made my way to the kitchen and set the bags on the counter, "Why did you do that Shiloh Harper? That was mean.." I mused. I mean it had been rather unexpected, I was not used to slapping strangers. Then again I was not used to being insulted by them either, especially when they yelled at me to claim that my _thinking_ was irritating. Why did I care? What he did was unacceptable and with a nod of my head I justified my reply.

Having put the groceries away I nabbed an oat bar from it's box, christening the beginning of the end for that box. The chocolate chunks melted away on my tongue and I closed my eyes in pleasure. Chocolate. The best way to improve any girls mood in my opinion, my mind drifting off to more important things and leaving the impertinent man in the dust of my thoughts.

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**Note**: I would like to point out that Onaga, Kansas is a real place and I did in fact live there. I felt that writing from a place that I knew and was familiar with was nicer than doing two weeks of research on a secluded little village in some other state. Research and I do not get along.

And yes, Shiloh is an impulsive tom-boy. Forgive me c:

Also please! Let me know what you think, I love reviews! Just don't be rude. I don't like rude.


	4. I swear by the Queen!

The Case of Shiloh Harper

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Chapter Four: I swear by the Queen!

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_"Bollocks! Bollocks! Jesus Christ!"_ muffled cries that I could not identify followed a massive crash landing. It had been something decently heavy, hopefully that cursed man, perhaps deciding that suicide was the best option in rescuing himself. I mentally pinched myself for even thinking such a thing, suicide was never the way to go, no matter who you were. So if it was not a suicide than it could only have been the infamous _Sherlock_ testing out a new theory, experiment... Whatever. I did not care, and I never would. I just wished he would make less noise doing it!

Irritation nibbled at the corners of my brain, whispering all of the trouble I could cause if I just went up there and put an end to it all. Sure it would clear up the stress that had become a familiar feeling since meeting him that one day, but it would only prevent me from doing what I really wanted in life. Prison was the worst place to try and further your career, or so I heard. Even so, I dropped the brush back into the paint bucket with no concern to the splatter. It was all going to be the same color in the end, I had to do a little begging but Miss Hudson had finally consented. As long as she approved of the color, and of course she had. It is a pretty color.

_"Holy hell Sherlock, it's everywhere! Why don't you clean up- Christ! It's- Sherlock!"_ There it was again, Sherlock's faithful dog shrieking over his master's newest screw-up. John was it? I think that was his name. I had not really paid attention when Miss Hudson was rattling off about her two favorite _boys_ as she called them, her precious boys. They were clearly not related, all of it boggled me. Or maybe... Maybe they were in the middle of a passionate wrestle, proclaiming their love for each other as only two full-grown men can. I blanched at the image and shook my head to get make it go away; that was going just a little too far.

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"Jesus, Sherlock why? _Why_, every time that I come home is there always _some sort of bodily fluid_. All over the place?!" John Watson gazed on as helplessly as he could, although for the amount of time they had been together he was really used to it. That did not change the fact that he utterly despised it. Brain matter gushed out from beneath his sole, making a squelching sound that made John want to roll over and die. Anywhere but this bloody apartment. It had been two years, _two long years_ since Sherlock had revealed his charade to John, Miss Hudson, all of them. In regards to his reasons well... As far as John knew he had taken care of them. Sherlock had returned to his typical self doing his typical cases, shirking his typical duties.

There had been a point when John was okay with all of the awful things Sherlock had brought to their apartment, had been a time when the thought of running off into danger thrilled him. It still thrilled him to a degree, but nothing like it had. That desire to rush into the face of possible death had lessened, slighted by the insult imposed on him by the man he had... That _was_ his best friend. John would never be able to forgive him completely, even two years later and he still bit angrily at the thought of what Sherlock had done. So much so that even his everyday experiments made John angry, made him want to pack of his things and leave. Of course he did not, he was John after-all. He was Sherlock's only friend.

No one else would be.

The man in question stood utterly silent, only the rustle of fabric signified that he was still breathing. Otherwise he very well could have turned into a statue. John blew at a lock of sandy hair, he needed to get it cut... "It is not satisfying." Sherlock quipped absently, a lone finger tapping against his chin. "Pardon? What isn't satisfying? Besides the brain littered on my floor," John retorted hotly, wringing his hands to let off some of his steam. Honestly he was not a violent nor overly aggressive man, and that was something he prided himself on. This was just about to make him mad though, brain... Really?

"The results are all the same, there is no change. Can you not see John? Look!" The tall creature that was Sherlock stooped against his knees and actually stuck his hands into a lump of... grey... just no. John averted his eyes with a heavenly roll. "I injected the subjects nodes with four streaks of heroin, I was looking for a general change in the appearance.." He sucked on his lower lip a moment, "How silly of me, looking for something that is not there, _gah_!" He rose back toward the ceiling and glared at his mess, John could hear the gears of his brain as every thought, every idea fired away, every possible theory, reason. What he did not understand is why Sherlock had injected four streaks of _heroin_ into a poor creatures brain, just to see if it had any effects on it.

John could have told him that it would not have done anything, Heroin did not effect the appearance of a brain so soon after use. No that was something that came much further into the addiction and- Hold on! "Sherlock, you injected _heroin_ into that brain... Heroin." John strode after the man as Sherlock crossed into the kitchen. "_Where did you get heroin._" His voice was low, dis-believing. Surely the great Sherlock Holmes, no matter his regrettable decisions and sudden interest in taking every case that came their way. Surely he would not resign himself to partaking of... Of drugs? The dark mans eyebrow furrowed visibly, his lips pursing, his posture became rigid. "I am perfectly capable of obtaining heroin if I wish it John, _no_ I am not using it, heroin is useless too me and only inhibits my thinking. Come now John you cannot lower yourself to coming up with excuses to be angry with me?" John simmered so deliciously that he imagined their lovely neighbor could probably feel it through her ceiling.

Their neighbor, the soldier was eternally grateful for the abrupt change of thought. Their neighbor! All this time they had been up here, brain splattering, yelling... She must be distraught! Although he had been the only one yelling really, that did not change his mental insistence to go apologize. It would allow him to leave Sherlock behind for a while, let him cool down. Let Sherlock think about the massive git he was being, John scoffed. "You are ridiculous and just pointlessly cruel, I don't know how I put up with you." He turned on his ragged heels and exited the apartment with a curl of his lip. What John seemed to have forgotten was the reason he avoided that woman's room.

His knuckles met with the fading wood quite a few times before the door finally opened. A very perturbed and paint spattered face greeted him, thin lips twisted into a permanent frown, blonde hair tugged irritably into a bob. She looked as though she had been through a battle and back, losing splendidly to the paint. His gut was suddenly wrapped in barbed-wire, painful flips made him swallow, she fixed him with a gaze that could kill. "What do_ you_ want." She growled, settling the brunt of her body behind the door as though she were trying to hide from him. "Ah, I- Yes I come to apologize for all the noise! Terribly sorry, Sherlock just doesn't know-", "Just keep it down, can't you control that insidious man? Put him in a straight jacket." There was a hiss that followed her tart reply before the door was closed in his face. John just stood there for the longest time. It took miss Hudson coming upon him before he remembered to move, to care.

"Miss Hudson?" He called after her form as it retreated up the stairs, "Yes dearie?" She turned to him. "Miss Hudson, what- What is this girls name?" He pointed a trembling finger at 221C's door, making a clear struggle to keep his face composed. "Oh that girl, the _American_," She said the word with obvious delight though quickly curbed her enthusiasm as she noted the mans expression. "Ah well, I believe it starts with Shy something, Shy, Shye, Sky? I really cannot remember John, I'm sorry dear!" The motherly woman clucked helplessly at him. "John what _is_ he doing up there?" She inquired hopefully, taking a few steps backward. John closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

It was about time for him to head out for a drink.

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**Note: **I will not lie, there is a lot of history yet to be explained and it will come, have no fear. But needless to say my version of John is in my eyes a little more realistic than the hero best friend that overcomes all obstacles for the sake of his friendship. Although... He will eventually do just that lol. It is just taking much longer than a few months, so. I also toyed with the idea of how a man would really feel after such an experience, and I could not see someone like John just recovering. Oh well we will see how it works out.

I adore Shiloh, hopefully I might have a picture of her for you. Also I would like to give a shout out to _Frostivy_! For her gracious encouragement! I must ask what everyone else thinks so far? Reviews bring smiles to my face.


	5. What's in a name?

The Case of Shiloh Harper

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Chapter Five: What's in a name?

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I tugged on my vest after making sure that everything in the apartment was as it should be. Everything was in its rightful place, I hated to come back and find things moved. A muscle in my jaw twitched and I forced myself to ignore it.

Ever since that _John_ character had come sniveling to apologize for his roommate, I had discovered that somone was entering my room. After bringing this heinous act to miss Hudson's attention she had simply shrugged her shoulders and began the excuse-making, all the while wagging her fingers toward the ceiling. As though that was going to suitably punish her _boys_ for their actions. I frowned deeply. She was the land-lord, she was supposed to _do_ something about the grievances her tenants brought to her. Instead she directed your attention elsewhere, almost like she tried to make your complaint seem less than note-worthy. I was not sure if she did this on purpose or out of habit, maybe it was completely unrelated to the fact. But I hated it still, and I was beginning to much dislike the older woman.

John had done well to avoid me after our interaction, if we met by chance he would dip his head and hurry onward; be it home or London's grime-slicked streets. I always made sure to give him a pointed glare though, let him know that I was not playing around. I wanted him and his stupid _roommate_ to stay the hell away from me. Far, far away from me. I think he was getting the idea. Speaking of his roommate though, I could not say the same for him. Twice now, since slurring John I had run into him and I was almost positive he did it on purpose. I do not know what the mans motive could have been, I just wished he would disappear from my life, London, everywhere. He was a nuisance.

With my thoughts successfully locked inside my minds boiler-room, I left my apartment with a wicked twist of the knob. Hating my neighbors more than ever.

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Her flat was quaint at best: very little furniture (plain, plaid, and not an ounce of comfort to be had from it), a few pots and pans for cooking, various food stuffs, and two or three framed photographs. Her adjoining quarters were no better: the bed was lumpy (he suspected goosefeathers), her clothes all too large and ratty looking, lacking in female toiletries, and a mirror. Oh the mirror, that is what got him. It was beautiful, absolutely stunning, and clearly held a great amount of sentimental value for her. But why? That was the question. Why.

Sherlock tapped his chin in thought as he stood in the center of her living room. Again. Probably the fourth time that day since she had left for work that morning. Work, where _did_ she work? He waved the thought away, a short ring to Mycroft would answer that, no. He wanted to know about that mirror, but there was honestly nothing to go off of other than it was important to her. He had assumed early on that the man and woman in the photo's were her parents, the childs photo she kept hidden in her under-garments (her). Likely the mirror had been a gift from her parents, perhaps a birthday present? It was well-cleaned, daily, an heirloom? Not quite.

"Sherlock where did you- What in the name of the Queen _are you doing in here?_" John exclaimed with a rising panic as he gently pushed open their neighbors door. He could already see the disaster should the young lady come home early, he already suspected she knew that someone was entering her room. If the extra bolt on her side of the door was not enough proof. Still the tall, dark-haired man stood there, weedling over some detail in his brain.

Sherlock lifted a hand, insisting that he halt. "I'm thinking be quiet.", "Thinking, about what? Your explanation to her when she finds you loitering about in her dining room?", "Of course not, the mirror John, the mirror. Now be quiet!" He hissed, a breath of aggravation sighed between his lips.

John pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his forehead. He did not really understand Sherlock's interest in the girl, even after John had insisted he drop the subject of their altercation the other day. "A gift most definitely, but of what nature? Clearly it is dear to her, it was not from her parents yet they are the only photographs that she keeps. So a deceased relative? No, too clean." Sherlock abruptly rattled off his thoughts, eyes roaming across the grungy, off-white walls around them. "It must be an heirloom, the detail is remarkable, clearly the work of a tender hand, a loving creator and yet..." Something did not fit. He knew there was something missing, a piece of this so simple puzzle that chose to elude him.

"I think that, I don't care, and you should leave now. Really, I do." John dead-panned with a flat out glare. He had given up on his theories and just needed Sherlock to cooperate and stop being... well, Sherlock. "Come on Sherlock, she'll have your hide if she finds you here.", "No it's quite alright, I'll stay here you go on." John pursed his lips. "No Sherlock Holmes, you are leaving this flat, right. Now. And I am not taking no for an answer, now scoot!" The soldier moved toward him, icy blue eyes sought him out. But he kept his mouth shut and left.

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He was here again. I seethed. Although there was nothing moved, touched, or noticeably disturbed I knew. I had that _feeling_, and the wispy scent of men's cologne might have helped that decision. I was going to have that mans stupid little head the next time I saw him, this was all out war.

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**Note: **Angry, very angry. On all ends apparently, geesh. Someone throw 'em a tampon.


	6. My breathy secret

The Case of Shiloh Harper

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Chapter Six: My breathy secret

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For once I do not think he intended for it to happen. He might have actually meant to come in for a bite to eat with no intention of harassing me, physically un-arming me, and then proceeding to steal what is rightfully mine. Still, that did not excuse his behavior plus his lack of grace in returning my belongings. Stupid fool.

_Four hours earlier_

_Sherlock_. The little voice in my head cringed under the weight of hatred that came loaded with his name as it passed between my lips. "Sherlock." I stated tightly, thinking about my job. Why did I bother to remember his name?

"You." Is all he replied with, his eyes, the color of frothing sea-foam seemed to burn a trail across my uniform as he did that observing thing he did. I forced my tongue to be still, the least he could do was call me by my name! I knew he knew it. He had to. The way he looked at me, it was the gaze of someone eyeing a familiar piece of furniture, or perhaps a favorite dish. Like he knew me. How was beyond me but I contested his small crown of knowledge with the jut of my chin, gripping the towel in my fingers until my knuckles turned white.

"Thank you for choosing Ellie Mae's Deli, how may I... Serve you." A muscle twitched in my cheek.

I specifically remember telling miss Hudson about my intentions of severing his head the next time I ran into him. Needless to say she had complained greatly at my promise of murder, but that did not influence my decision. However... my workplace was not really the place to be taking people's heads off. I sort of needed my job. _Ugh!_ I groaned internally as I watched his face, wishing that I could just tear a hole through the middle with my brain.

He ordered a rather basic sub, a spicy Italian with extra salami and the pepper jack melted. Should I have forgotten to toast his precious sandwich he would promptly speak to my manager about my lack of blah blah blah. Who cared. I prepared his order in a precise manner, missing not a single beat in my perfection of his precious sandwich. I would make his sandwich so freaking perfect that, that- He would just drop dead from the shock. Yeah.

"Thank you so much for coming, have a nice day!" _Don't go too far boyo, I'm gonna rip you to pieces_.

He stole my breath with one last fleeting glance, the icy blue of his gaze stifling my thoughts long enough for him to exit without harm. No complaints, not even a 'thank you.' I seethed.

Turning from the serving counter my fingers made quick work of the knot holding my apron in place, I tossed the flimsy material onto its hook and grabbed my coat. All in one motion as I strode stiffly through the back room. "Molly I'm goin' on break!" I called out, somewhere someone answered me but I did not bother to wait and see what they said. I knew how long I had, and I would use every second to make quick work of that damned freak. Hurriedly pushing through the back exit I stepped into the alley behind the shop, stale water splashed onto my pants and I grimaced.

He would be there, he _had_ to be there.

"Shiloh." I did not get the chance to see the clouded sunlight of the day before he stopped me. His footsteps echoed against the brick layering and I was reminded of some horror film as he huffed. "You know I wasn't actually looking for you, in fact I did not even know you worked here." The simple truth of his words were startling enough to hold me still as he came up to stand in front of me. What? No way, he always had a reason for what he did, that is what miss Hudson said! "But. Now that you have me please, indulge me."

"You.. You idiot!" Not bothering to keep my voice down I cried out in anger before throwing myself at him. I did not really know what I was trying to do, I just knew that I wanted to dirty up that pretty little face of his. And _if_ I got lucky, I would take his head off by some weird chance of things.

What I did find out was that Sherlock Holmes was much more formidable than he let on. Within, I was not sure, maybe a few seconds? Maybe less? The man had me pinned to the brick floor, broken brick digging painfully into my cheek. He held me prone with one hand, large enough to clasp across both of my wrists while his free hand slipped down my sides. "Hey!" I gasped into the hollow emptiness of the alley, a brief spit of fear rushing into my head.

"What's this?" NO!

"Put that down! Hey no! No- No gees can't you hear!" Suddenly panic is all I knew, adrenaline raced down my spine and flushed through my veins. What was he trying to do? Was he trying to ruin me!? "Sher- No Sherlock stop, _Stop!_" Why would he not put it down, what was wrong with this guy? Could he not tell that I was afraid? Okay I got it he could defend himself but he did not need to threaten the whole of London with his stupidity.

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When he revealed the small, clasped locket from her pocket the explosion of fear was nearly tangible. Such an abrupt change of pace, one moment she tried to single-handedly (and very sloppily) take him down, the next she was nearly crying as he held her in place. She was yelling, whispering, then yelling again, crying out that he should unhand the locket. In reality he should have, but putting two and two together he realized that the designs lacing the lockets surface were identical to the mirror in her room.

Sherlock whuffed and grabbed her forearm, pulling her up with him as he stood.

"What is this?" He inquired simply, fixing her with a gaze that very few managed to surpass. It was his business look and he quite seriously meant it. A small breeze played with the curls that laid on his ears, he twitched and turned to the right. "What?"

"Please, put it down, please! Sherlock_ Sherlock_ you don't know- don't know what you're doing!" She begged. "Should I? Tell me miss Harper what is the importance of this locket, to match so exact the mirror in your room. It must mean something." Sherlock furrowed his brows as he realized what he was doing. He was, _asking_, her why? Why in the world was he asking her when he could figure it out himself? A flutter of confusion rose in the core of his chest but he waved it off in disregard to the current situation. He was better than that, he could do this.

So why, why did he feel so... blank?

He tightened his grip on her arm, he felt as though someone, something had cast a vat of glue into his gears, slowing the rapid connection of his thoughts. Making it almost _difficult_ to put things together, to connect them, to make sense of them. Sherlock blinked a few times, disbelieving. Motor skills seemed in tact, speech un-hindered. "Miss Harper if you would explain-" His voice failed him. _John_... Where did he go?

* * *

When the tall, dark man fell I let him. I did to rush out to stop it, I allowed gravity to drag him heavy and hard into the cruel masonry of the alleyway. The thrill of justice that seared through me was short-lived, guilt needling into the base of my mind. No, I quashed the feeling. He deserved it. He deserved it for his snooping, his prying.

At least it was over. I would be able to continue in peace without the detective man shoving his nose into dusty corners that did not need discovered. With a final sniff I bent down, snatching the golden locket from his limp fingers, and dashed into the mugginess of another London after-noon.

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**Note:** I know someone is going to ask so I will give a short explanation: The way I wrote Sherlock being rendered mentally dumb was done on purpose. It was a sequential thing and every sentence was to signify that he was losing pieces of himself to ~the big secret~. So it was not 'wow she sucks at this.' Silly people! It does not take long for this particular secret to work hehehe. But oh my, what could little Shiloh be hiding? -sigh-. We might never know.

Anyhow, review people. Review. Tell me all about my work and what you feel, think. That sort of thing. Come on, you know you want to.


	7. Day one, nothing

The Case of Shiloh Harper

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Chapter Seven: Day one, nothing.

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_Day one? Nothing._ I scribbled the words with little thought onto the last page of an empty journal, a journal I remember getting for one of my birthdays. I just could not seem to recall which one... Either way it was serving some kind of purpose now so I suppose it was worth it. It would now serve as a reminder for how many days of peace I had since the night my nosy neighborhood took my necklace. So far, one day.

I was not sure how I felt about it all. The entire situation, especially from my end. I had sat against my door the night before, listening as John, _yes his name is John_, drag his rather dead-weight roommate back up to their room. Miss Hudson scurrying about in his wake, promising tea and biscuits and some other food as their voices faded into the ancient creaks of the building.

John. He must be a good friend, to have found Sherlock so easily. I could name a few people that never would have bothered to look if their 'good' friends had gone missing, or they would just piss about for a few hours and say they looked. But that is about as far as things got with Kansas, the Christians spewed their beliefs and some of them were genuine while the school kids took all the jobs along-side the immigrants and left the rest of the population to college or the streets. At least- that is how my Father had put it. I guess I did not really have my own opinion, I did not really care. Kansas was Kansas, I was born and raised there, it all looked the same, and everyone lied and cheated the same.

A sigh whispered between my lips as I searched absent-mindedly for my chapstick.

Sherlock. A busy-body that made a life out of putting himself in other peoples shoes to solve crimes against and for the people that he felt either deserved it, or deserved to go away for it. I could find no real rhyme or reason to his cases, nothing linking them together, but I guess I had not looked that hard either. I was not the mystery kind of girl, I tended to shy away from all that nonsense. Even now.

I guess this was how it was going to be now that Sherlock was subdued, I no longer had a reason to worry about my business, my _secrets_ coming into the light. I had no reason to hide anymore.

So why did I feel so bad? Instinctively I sought out the pretty gold locket that set around my neck, it fit there, belonged there, like a glove hugging its masters fingers. I had not worn it since realizing that Sherlock had been entering my room, in fact I was a little surprised that he had not noticed the difference. But I was not going to say anything. No. I did not need to worry about him anymore.

When did I start calling him by name? my forehead wrinkled at this, eyebrows coming together in a knot as my lips dipped into a frown. He was just my idiot neighbor and now I was done with him. I did not have a reason to hate him anymore. But I still did. Did I not? _Mom..._ My mind reached out for an image of the woman, my finger tracing absent circles on the journal pages. She would know what to do, she knew everything. She was not here though... I sighed again, heavier, if that was possible.

I should take the time to review everything, wrap my mind around the deeper meaning of the whole kit and kaboodle. But I did not want to, I wanted to go to bed and leave all of that mess to John. John was a good friend. My idiot neighbor whom I hated passionately was in good hands with John, and miss Hudson I guess.

Stupid nosy neighbors.

* * *

**Note:** So I will get a few chapters up at you over the next few days, I have them written up to a point. So you'll get at least this weeks worth, joy! Just go with the flow, let your imaginations run wild because I do not do well with giving out spoilers. Though I do tend to teeter on the edge of spoilers... That make you want to beat me up and stuff. Hehehe aaaah, but yeah. Shiloh doing a bad job of handling what happened. _Just wait, you'll get it eventually_.

Also, can I please thank Frostivy if I have not already? Because that lady, you lady are amazing. And thank you those few that have decided this is worth following. You all got good taste ;D


	8. Day two, a day in the neighborhood

The Case of Shiloh Harper

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Chapter eight: Day two, day in the neighborhood

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Seeing nothing of my neighbor was if anything, different. The fact that I had become so used to his presence that it made his absence _different_ was disturbing and so I perished the thought. Things were normal now and I had a date! Filling my head with images of the man from the bar, I snatched up my keys, shouldering my handbag, and locked the door behind me. Skipping down the stairs I narrowly missed running into John as he took the steps by two's up to 221B. "Ah, morning!" The man spared little more than a chaste wave, dipping his head and moving past.

I stalled a moment to glance after him, painfully aware of the drum-beat in my ears. _Stop it Shiloh!_ I shook my head and continued the trek down the stairs. Miss Hudson was missing from her usual spot in the living room and I frowned, she was never gone this early in the morning. With the weight of suspicion on my chest I exited the apartment, closing the door quietly in my wake and hailed a cab.

Stephen Moore was a psychology major with a blooming love of theatre, he enjoyed helping out at the local community place arranging plays and musicals with the children. I was not fond of children myself but watching him interact with them at the clinic had nearly killed me, it was just so adorable! What else was I to do but ask him out for lunch? His agreement was surprising but not disappointing in the least. Although the date had been scheduled two days prior, I had rang him the night before and pleaded for another chance. The memory of his laugh gave me butterflies and my knees trembled in delight. Things would work out for sure! He seemed perfectly happy to recieve my advances thus far.

The cab carted me off to- as far as I knew- the only Olive Garden I had managed to locate in England. Finding something so familiar so far from home had been a sheer token of luck, plus I just love Olive Garden so that just made it better.

Stephen was already waiting when I paid the cabbie and turned to make my entrance. His dark hair was slicked back but not overly drenched, a few wily strands tickled his eyelashes as he smiled. "Shiloh, glad you could make it sweetheart!" A hand grasped my shoulder and pulled me into a full-bodied embrace, dear lord I could have melted. "I-I'm sorry, I'm late?" A half-assed attempt at conversation while also apologizing for missing the original day of the date. If not for a snoopy neighbor of mine... "Oh gosh no, you're right on time! But you know the early bird gets the worm." Eyes the color of hazel-nuts glowed with mirth, his cheeks carried a pinkish hue to them. Were they always like that?

After a few shared laughs we finally made our way inside and found ourselves seated at the far east of the restaurant, reclined comfortably in a booth.

"How do you expect middle-schoolers to understand Shakespeare?" I queried after listening to him gab about his most recent excursion. _I_ did not even know much about Shakespeare and he was trying to organize a group of pre-teens into a functioning group of actors? Please. My thoughts aside I smiled warmly as he shrugged his shoulders and sipped on his drink. "I expect them to be interested in the subject they applied for, why else would anyone sign up for theatre if they're not going to do it?" I snorted, "Because their parents don't know what else to do with them and or they're all involved in a secret dating service." This time he chuckled and I sighed, absently playing with a lock of hair.

"I guess you have a point, that's all a lot of kids think about these days. Dating,"

"It has its perks." I stared him straight in the eyes before glancing over toward a waitress as she bustled by. Dating sure as hell was not my forte, I always managed to slip into a stage of flirting that came out more like a drunken attempt at courtship. Needless to say I was a bookworm growing up and boys were like an alien force to me. I remembered my group of bookies, Melissa, Kendra, and Alison- we sound so boring- and then there was John I guess. Dark curls played at the edges of my vision and I whipped my head around to find a man standing there, dressed as an employee he held a pen and pad. "How are you guys holding out, still need a few minutes?"

My head was fuzzy and I gasped aloud, realizing that I had scooted back from the waiter and was now staring at him as though he were a caged animal. My expression dropped from horror to shame as I glimpsed Stephen frowning at me, the waiter gave a hard stare as I hurriedly excused myself.

What in Gods name had I done.

I found my thoughts firmly planted on the man unconscious in the flat above mine. A face so full of angles and yet terribly soft with skin as pale as fresh cow's milk. And that hair, oh I hated that hair, and I hated that waiter!

And I felt, with a twist in my gut, that I was starting to hate me too.

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**Note:** Mmmmm, Olive Garden c:


	9. Presenting stupid

The Case of Shiloh Harper

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Chapter nine: Presenting stupid

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_I felt, with a twist in my gut, that I was starting to hate me too._

When I returned to the booth the waiter had gone, and Stephen was staring out the window to his right. Taking a moment I slowed, watching him as he waited. His face had hardened and yet the child-like roundness of his face made it seem tender somehow, like a gentle anger that gripped him by the chin. The pale chocolate of his eyes were shot through with waves of auburn and cream while silver specks made them seem even lighter. He was handsome man really, my chest tightened. Handsome or not, knowing that I had no idea what he was thinking made my fingers tingle as I arrived, and sat down.

He turned to me and that hard glaze broke into a rift of curiosity. "You alright? Stomach feeling funny?" I pushed my hair back over my shoulder and shifted uncomfortably, "Ah, just a tad." Stephen tilted his head just so, turned to look across the room and then focussed back on me, "You know that guy? The waiter.", "No! Not at all I just.. I don't know..." Not knowing what to say I trailed off into silence and it just enveloped the whole of our little space. "Gosh Shiloh that was mighty mean of you, poor man didn't know what to think! Maybe you should apologize,"

His brown eyes stared so intently at me that I swore I felt the start of holes in my forehead, as I refused to meet his gaze. "I might-", "No you will, because nobody likes a bully Shiloh, nope!" My lips parted with confusion at the command, I had never been likened to a bully before. I do not think I liked it, I was no bully. I also did not like being chastised as though I were one of his students, and so my shock transformed into a tickle of irritation. "I don't have to apologize for anything, he was up in my junk, not much else to it." The American in me just blew through every ounce of proper manners I might have had, somewhere inside I groaned.

Stephen's eyes narrowed, taking on a cold edge while his mouth remained soft and warm in a permanant smile. "Well that's no good at all, we can't have that can we?" Suddenly his face burst into an expression of amusement as he laughed aloud, taking me off guard. "I guess I can see how that would bother someone, excuse me!" The man slipped out of the booth and followed the path to the bathrooms as I had. So why did I feel like he was not coming back?

I let my gaze wander back to the table and found that in being away my Dr. Pepper had been refilled and Stephens soda had been replaced with tea. That was not strange at all, I caught sight of blonde in my peripheral and grabbed at the lock of hair that swayed beside me. Curling it around my knuckles until I could not longer, releasing the tuft and blowing gently at it. Despite Stephens apparent disappointment in my actions, I still felt the growth of disappointment in my mind. I liked Stephen and I wanted him to like me also, not to think I was some stuck up American that could not control herself. I could control myself, I could conform.

But did I really want too? Sherlock drifted into my thoughts once more, God what had I done do deserve this? I needed to call mother, she would know what to do about it all. Stephen worked at a clinic did he not, mayhap I could ask him for help... No! No need to drag him into all of it.

I grabbed the locket, my heart beat pounded viciously against the back of my fingers. I imagined an African dancer, slamming his fists against my ribcage as he wove back and forth to the pulse of my body, racing to keep up with the pace. A strange thing to relate it to but the sound of drums was foreign, and I was becoming quickly acquainted with them. A hand slid onto my shoulder, I started. "Do you like Alfredo?" Stephens familiar timbre made the dancer slow, calm, and I smiled.

Everything would be alright. It had to be.

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**Note:** I love stephen, he's so precious ;u; Shiloh is just all riled up with feels man. All the feels.


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